


until the blossom withers

by bettersounds (thebadguyswin)



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Ancient Greece AU, Athens, Gen, Sparta - Freeform, you're gonna wanna read the author's notes a lot probably
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-18
Updated: 2016-11-18
Packaged: 2018-08-31 15:21:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8583595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebadguyswin/pseuds/bettersounds
Summary: Ty wants to see the world, not just study it.This concept has never occurred to Josh.A.K.A The Ancient Greece (Classical Athens/Sparta) AU no one thinks they want until someone says "hey, imagine if this was a thing?" Then suddenly Y'ALL WANT IT.Title from Tyrtaeus, frag 11.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Alright boys buckle up for this it's gonna be a bumpy ride.
> 
> I'm a university student who has/is studying Ancient Greece is various forms. I'm not gonna say this will be the MOST HISTORICALLY ACCURATE THING IN THE WHOLE WORLD, but I know a thing or two. I will allow myself artistic licence.
> 
> I'm really excited for this concept but updates might not be super frequent because like,,, it's also a difficult concept to write. I've been wanting to do this for a while anyway so?? Why not!!! 
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy this anyway. This is basically a teaser chapter but I wanted to gauge reaction because I'm impatient so!!
> 
> WITH REGARDS TO NAMES;
> 
> Tyler is 14th Century English so it's not very authentic. I've replaced 'Tyler' with a Greek alternative, but I intend to shorten it to Ty throughout this. 
> 
> Joshua is technically a super old name and existed in the 5th Century BC, BUT it's Hebrew and as such there was an issue for me. There's no letter J in Greek or Hebrew and I had a bit of a hissy fit over what to. I sought advice, and thus far have used a Greek spelling of Joshua (as you will see) But I intend to abbreviate it to Josh too anyway so.

Tyrtaeus is learned, well-educated amongst some of the finest scholars in the known world. He carries himself with an air of superiority and dignity that one gets from an inflated sense of self-worth.

Tyrtaeus is proud to call Athens his home. It is the centre of learning, and its citizens know the true meaning of equality. Tyrtaeus is delighted to be able to participate fully in his polis’ democratic system, having recently reached the age of maturity.

Tyrtaeus tells himself this every day. Every day as he makes the journey from his home to his academy, Tyrtaeus tells himself how much he loves his scholarship and his polis and his fellow Athenians.

Tyrtaeus is, however, bored. Every day is the same. Every week is the same. Every month is the same. It has been since he reached manhood.   

“How were your studies today, Tyrtaeus?” His father asks him every day as he returns home.

“Good.” He replies curtly. “We certainly have the finest scholars of all the Greek poleis.”

His father nods approvingly, then goes about his business.

So, one day, at the beginning of the summer season, before dawn has broken, Tyrtaeus packs a satchel. A drinking cup, a spare tunic, some of his favourite documents from his studies.

Tyrtaeus steps out of his home, the sky still grey and the sun just beginning to peer over the horizon, and he walks. He walks to his father’s stables and collects his horse. His wealthy family could afford such luxuries, and they certainly could afford to replace his mount in his absence.

Tyrtaeus rides to the city walls, and through the city gates, and he keeps riding.

Tyrtaeus wants to see the world he’s read about. All the battles and encounters and adventures that he’s seen in documents has spiked his curiosity. But he’s sick and tired of only hearing about them. No, Tyrtaeus wants to _see_ the world for himself. He wants his documents to be studied in academies, and he can’t write them if he’s busy studying someone else’s words.

* * *

Iesous is strong, and fast, and beautiful. He is proud, obedient, and boastful.

Iesous is Spartan. He has been moulded and whipped and trained to be better than the best, and he knows it. And he _loves_ it.

He awakens with a low growl in his stomach, and reasons it’s time for breakfast. He stands up from his makeshift bed of reeds and cloth, and pulls his red cloak around him. Barefoot, he makes his way to the market and swipes a wheat bun from a stall of one of the merchant traders, eating it in a hidden corner of a street. No one sees him. Stealing is encouraged to feed hungry bellies, but getting caught is strictly forbidden.

 _Still hungry_. He thinks. He isn’t due any formal training today. Today would be a day for practice, in any way they saw fit.

Iesous is a year away from being considered for his citizenship title, and he is looking forward to it. Citizenship means responsibility, yes, but also comradery and security within his very own mess. He wouldn’t have to swipe food to sustain himself any more. But then again, maybe he’d miss that. He always was one of the sneakiest in his herd.

Being so near to the end of his education, however, does mean he is allowed slightly more freedom than the strictly monitored younger boys. Iesous takes advantage of this more often than his elders would maybe like, but he is usually excused because of his proven, unwavering loyalty thus far.

And so, Iesous decides that there is no better way to spend this warm summer day than with a hunt. He sharpens his knife and spear, and heads out of his village and towards the wooded area he favours for hunting.

He is a fine hunter, and has never come back empty handed. He doesn’t intend to today, either. He is careful, looking for evidence of animals passing between trees and across river beds. He doesn’t disappoint himself, stumbling across rabbit dens filled with the creatures; he takes out a couple and slings them over a tree branch to collect on his journey back. He is especially excited to see trotter prints, but Iesous knows it would be too foolish to attempt to bring down a boar by himself. No, he’d rather save himself from injury if it wouldn’t benefit Sparta.

Iesous reaches a clearing. A wide expanse of grass, with a sandy stretch of water tricking through it. The stream looks cooling, and Iesousis hot and sore from his trek and hunting. He is just about to go to the waterside, when he catches movement out of the corner of his eyes. He drops instinctively, keeping to the shadows. He drops his cloak to the ground, the red against the green too much of a contrast. No, he must stay hidden.

A boy. No, maybe a man. Iesous can’t tell. He looks the same height as him, but much, much thinner and weaker. He’s wearing a tunic, and sandals, and a satchel hangs from his shoulder. His hair is brown, and his cheeks and chin are dusted with scruff.

Iesous frowns. His clothes are high quality, so he is not a helot. But they are worn and dirty, as if he has been travelling for a while. He certainly isn’t local.

He creeps out of the shadows, staying low, with his spear in his hand. The boy, or man, is stooping to touch the water. He cups his hand and brings water to his face to drink. He looks a little worse for wear.

Iesous remains unnoticed, right up until he’s three paces behind the stranger.

Iesous takes a deep breath. “Do they not have water where you come from?”


End file.
